


Breaking Point

by SeKa_Kowadi



Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, Boss/Employee Relationship, Caning, Collars, Dominant Female Character, Dominant/submissive relationship, F/F, Flogging, Lesbian Character, Masochism, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Punishment, Role Reversal, Sadism, Sadomasochism, Submissive Female Character, Teasing, Vibrators, Violet Wand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2020-08-10 15:56:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20138074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeKa_Kowadi/pseuds/SeKa_Kowadi
Summary: Matilda Langley is the over-stressed, over-worked CEO of The Crossroads Ledger. She would give anything to find freedom from her anxiety and lack of excitement in her life. Her secretary, Jocelyn, intends to give her precisely that, and so much more.





	1. Chapter 1

“Ma’am?”

It was late on Friday night. The lights of the Crossroads skyline glittered against the windows of the 48th floor office of Matilda Langley. A myriad of beads of rainwater clung to the glass. The steady patter of the weather against the building provided a soothing white noise, blotting out the bustle rising up from street level. Outside, people hurried about with their umbrellas. Outside, people traveled under cover of umbrella to dinner dates and discotheques. Outside, people disengaged from their professional capacities and shifted into the more pleasure-centered nightlife of the Great City at the heart of all possible universes. Outside, people went about their lives.

“Ma’am.”

Inside the office, however, there was no pleasure.

“Ma’am.”

Inside the office, there was only work.

Matilda blinked, long eyelashes fluttering behind thick lenses. She set her phone down onto her desk, the screen still glowing, as she lifted her eyes and attention back towards her secretary. “I’m sorry,” she said, lifting her glasses to rub her eyes. “I’m sorry. You were saying, Jocelyn?”

Sighing, Jocelyn set her notebook down in her lap and tucked the pen she’d held behind her ear. The young woman was a sharp contrast to herself, Matilda thought. It was closing in on eight in the evening, and every button on her blouse was perfectly arranged; the dark red scarf around her neck, matched perfectly to her lipstick, tied into a symmetrical knot at the base of her throat. Legs clad in pressed, spotless pants crossed at the knees, while her shoes had not a single scuff on their polished surfaces.

Matilda, however, looked anything but neat or composed. Her shirt was untucked on one side; her hair, compared to Jocelyn’s neat bun, had strands falling out from her ponytail. Dark circles colored the underside of her eyelids.

“Ma’am,” Jocelyn said, voice bereft of any patience, “were you paying attention to anything I was talking about?”

Matilda winced. Her mind had wandered off some time before. It wasn’t that she was disinterested, or didn’t care. Not entirely. She was proud of the Crossroads Ledger; the city’s financial paper of record had been in her family for nearly a century, and she was the first woman in her lineage to take the helm. But she would much rather be its editor-in-chief, her hands deep in the stories of the vicious battlefield corporate dealings in the City.

Instead, though, she held the office of its CEO, far removed from the grit and adventure of reporting. Her world was numbers and contracts, deals meant to keep the long-toothed paper from closing its doors in the face of a more technological, digital city. Her mind was already numb from meetings with shareholders and advertisers from the first to the last minute of the workday. Having to listen to her secretary discuss the acquisition of two of Crossroads’ regional trade newspapers was, at this late hour, flowing in through one ear, and out the other. It was easier, she decided, to page through social media and district her conscious thoughts than have to endure more discussion and analysis.

“I…”

Matilda’s voice caught in her throat. She tried to find something else to look at; something in the windows, something else in her office, something other than Jocelyn’s piercing gaze. “I’m sorry. I lost track. I apologize.”

Jocelyn closed her eyes. Was she angry? Frustrated? Did she too, Matilda thought, want to call it a night at this point? Not likely, she realized. They would both need to attend brunch the following morning, a courtesy to the owners of the papers they were acquiring. They would be making a joint press announcement about the purchase around noon. They needed to go through the outline of the announcement and what actions were to follow immediately after.

“Ms. Langley,” Jocelyn said, uncrossing her legs, planting her feet on the floor as she sat up. “You’ve been struggling to keep up this entire meeting.”

Matilda leaned forward, setting her elbows against her desk, the weight of her head resting against the palm of her hand. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. My mind just feels like it’s going numb from trying to manage this deal, and I feel like I’m at a breaking point. I know this is mine to shoulder, but…”

“But?”

“But… I don’t even know.”

Jocelyn nodded. “You’ve worked late for several nights, now. Have you not?”

She had. Boxes of Chinese and Thai food had been her dinners for… a week? Two weeks? She had lost track of the late nights, the drives home that started well past ten at night, if then. The mornings that came far too soon; the back-to-back cups of coffee that made her heart palpitate and her hands shake, but kept her awake through the day.

“What about your weekends, Ms. Langley?”

A half-hearted laugh spilled from Matilda’s lips. What even were weekends? The news was an around-the-clock business, but her weekends looked entirely like her weekdays. Early mornings, endless meetings, late nights spent trying to defuse conflicts between the editorial and advertising staffs, each working seemingly in opposition to one another. Too many long hours putting out fires, with not nearly enough water within her to address them all.

“When did you last take a vacation, Ms. Langley?”

Had she ever taken a vacation? She couldn’t remember.

“Ms. Langley,” Jocelyn said, lingering on her words ever so slightly, “when was the last time you interacted with another person outside of this office? Outside of your position here?”

She didn’t know. Matilda’s lips trembled. When was it? Work was her world, swallowing everything. Home was a bed to sleep a few hours in. Food was whatever she could find. People of her status should be living in luxury, and here she was, crumbling around the edges, bowed over her desk.

“I don’t know,” she sputtered, gritting her teeth as she fell silent, all while trying to fight the tears building behind her eyes. “I can’t handle this, Jocelyn. I can’t. It’s getting to be too much and I don’t know how much longer I can keep pushing myself.”

“What if you didn’t have to?”

Matilda spread her fingers, staring through cock-eyed eyeglasses to the woman seated across the room. Rising from her chair, Jocelyn walked to the credenza set into the wall on the far end of the room and opened one of its cabinets. Two bourbon glasses clinked against a polished, stone countertop, followed by the crackle of ice and the smoothness of liquor pouring over them. Carrying both by just the tips of her fingers on each hand, Jocelyn set one down in front of Matilda before walking back towards her chair.

Looking down into her reflection in the ice and whiskey, Matilda breathed in the heady, smoky scent of the alcohol before taking the glass and sipping at its contents. “I don’t understand,” she said, wincing at the burn as it slid down her throat.

Nodding, Jocelyn moved back towards her chair, drink in hand. Matilda waited for her to retake her seat, only to watch the young woman change direction at the last moment, approaching the furthest corner of the room, where the floor-to-ceiling glass windows met the interior wall. One hand raised her glass to her lips, while the other rested lightly against a tall vase, a pillar of translucent, crystalline stone that rose to hip-height. “This is quite a beautiful vase, Ms. Langley.” Jocelyn lowered her drink, fingers resting lightly on top of the vase. “Where did you acquire this?”

Matilda blinked. Did she even remember? “I’m not entirely sure. It’s just… been there. I think it was an antique, a gift from someone else in the city. An advertiser, investor…” She shook her head, finding that her drink did little to clear the fog of numbers and contracts from her mind. “I don’t know.”

Jocelyn nodded. Her fingers curled around the edge of the vase’s opening. “You would say, then, that’s it’s valuable?”

“Yes, I would imagine. It’s hand-made. One of a kind.”

Jocelyn nodded again. “Very well.”

The crash of breaking thin, hand-worked gemstone against the polished, hardwood floor was absolutely deafening.

Matilda jumped out of her seat, eyes wide at the broken shards littering the floor. “How,” she sputtered, nearly speechless, “how _dare_ you!”

Undeterred, Jocelyn crouched down, shifting her glass from one hand to the other to allow herself to pick up one of the larger shards of what had been the vase. “It’s quite pretty,” she said, looking through the rose-colored stone. Light shone through, throwing broken, angular shapes in shades of pink across the floor. “But empty. A thin shell with nothing inside to support itself, no structure to keep itself from breaking apart. The slightest push was all it took to shatter it.”

Fists clenched at Matilda’s sides, cheeks burning hot with anger. “I’ll be taking the cost of that out of your salary!”

Approaching the desk, Jocelyn set the fragment in her hand down on top of a stack of papers. “You, Ms. Langley, are like this vase. A beautiful exterior, the perfect image of a successful executive. But with the slightest push, the right amount of pressure, you’ll explode into thousands of pieces. You are nothing but a paper-thin likeness of a woman, barely holding onto appearances that you are in control of your affairs and your life. You depend entirely on me to keep this newspaper functionally and financially upright, do you not?”

Rage still vibrated within Matilda. That vase was her property! A gift to her! Jocelyn’s words, however, cut down to the quick. What didn’t her secretary do for her, arrange for her, process, analyze, and assess for her? She had heard the whispers around water coolers. Writers, editors, accountants; nearly everyone with the paper jokingly referred to Jocelyn as the true CEO of the paper. Hearing it over and over made something boil within her. How dare they disregard her so easily!

But, she thought to herself, looking at the tablet on her desk, filled with reports and spreadsheets prepared by Jocelyn; the notebook now sitting on the table beside the armchair the other woman had been sitting in, packed full of notes meticulously outlining every aspect of the purchase the company was executing. Jocelyn’s mind was as meticulous as the most finely tuned clock. Her’s, by comparison, was a sundial.

“Ms. Langley?”

Matilda sighed, sinking into her seat. Defeat washed away anger; there was no way to disagree with Jocelyn’s assessment and remain honest with herself. Her eyes dropped, looking back down into her glass. The ice had started to melt, diluting the golden brown color of the bourbon into a lighter tint. “You’re correct. I wish you had… I wish you hadn’t ruined my vase to make your point, but…” She laughed, an empty, dry sound bursting out from her lips. “You’re absolutely right.”

Finishing the last of her liquor, Jocelyn set the empty glass down on Matilda’s desk. “Are you familiar,” Jocelyn started, “with the art of _kintsugi_?”

Matilda blinked. The word seemed buried somewhere on the fringe of her conscious memory. She’d surely heard it in passing from someone; almost certainly from Nexus President Ayatsu. It carried no meaning in the moment, though. She shook her head. “I can’t say I remember what that is, no.”

“Kintsugi,” Jocelyn started, reaching out to once more hold up the broken vase fragment from between the two of them, “is the art of making something broken into something more beautiful than it had originally been. Artisans would take shattered pottery and rejoin the fragments with lacquer, blended with the dust of precious metals, such as gold. The resulting piece would, in many ways, be more beautiful than it had been before it was damaged. Just as importantly, it would be stronger; more impervious to future damage because of the veins now running through it, binding its pieces into one, unbreakable whole.”

The broken vase piece was tossed to the floor, tensing every muscle in Matilda’s body when landed. “In every respect, Ms. Langley, you are no different from the vase in the moments before it fell. Teetering on a breaking point. You are hollow; you carry nothing within you to give you structure. You are so incredibly fragile that one push will drive you over a precipice.”

Matilda pushed back further into her seat, her heart racing faster as Jocelyn spoke. “What becomes you then?” Jocelyn shook her head. “Never mind this business, your family’s legacy, the future of journalism in this city. What becomes of you when the pressure becomes too much, when you can no longer handle the weight of your responsibilities and the City’s expectations of you?”

Matilda opened her mouth; her voice cracked, letting out only the smallest of sounds. “I,” she said, her words barely above a whisper, “I don’t know.”

“I don’t expect you to know.” Jocelyn closed her eyes, a thin smile on her lips. “I do, however, have a solution I wish to offer you. If you are prepared to accept it.”

Struggling to push words past her racing breath, Matilda pressed against the back of her chair, forcing herself to sit upright. “What is it,” she asked, her voice shaking in her throat.

“Let me to be the one to break you.”

“What?”

“Allow me to shatter that fragile shell of yours into fragments. There is space within you for so much to grow, but before it can, all that you have been to this point must be torn asunder. You must trust me, absolutely. You must surrender and submit to me, entirely. I will break you free of your anxiety, of the fear that is strangling what life you have left in your heart.” Jocelyn leaned forward, her palms flat against Matilda’s desk, her face looming above her superior’s. “I already manage every aspect of your world. Give me permission to manage _you._”

“I,” Matilda stuttered, breaking her eyes away from Jocelyn’s gaze. She looked about the room. Around the desk, she could see the furthest scattered fragments of the vase her secretary had broken. Outside, rain pattered against the windows. Outside, people were hurrying to catch busses and ride-shares. Outside, people were toasting their ups and downs over a warm meal. Outside, people had lives.

Unlike her.

“I’m scared,” she said. A tear welled up at the corner of her eyes.

Jocelyn nodded. “You’re well within your rights to feel scared. What I propose, however, will transform you. Just as surely as gold and lacquer would transform your ruined vase.”

“What if I become too scared? What if I can’t… if I can’t handle being broken, what if…”

“If we come to a point where you must stop, then we will stop. But you cannot allow yourself to overthink this.” Jocelyn stood back, holding her hands, one atop the other, at her waist. “Do not let the questions consume you. Too many questions, and the unknown remains exactly that. I will ask you again, Matilda Langley: do I have your absolute trust? Will you give me your permission to break you, so that you may be remade?”

Matilda looked down. Her hands lay on top of one another in her lap.

“Ms. Langley?”

Lips parted. Teardrops landed against the back of Matilda’s palms.

“What is your choice, Ms. Langley?”

Matilda swallowed, closing her eyes. Fingers curled inward, nails pressing into her palms.

“Do it,” she said, her voice shaking, her voice quiet. “Break me.”

Jocelyn smiled, then gestured towards the door. “Then follow me.”


	2. Chapter 2

Matilda’s eyes focused on the twinkling lights dotting the skyscrapers that stood along the Crossroads Inner Loop highway. Being driven was strange and unsettling; she’d always taken her own car to the office, refusing even to take the trains and subways that formed a network across the city, or to ride in the back of a summoned ride-share. It was easier to focus on the wheel, on the operation of accelerator and brake, then to be left in the silence and contemplation of finding her hands and feet without anything to do.

She set her hands in her lap, drumming her fingers against her thighs. The window glass of the backseat felt cool against her skin, its exterior surface dotted by the rain.

Jocelyn, however, sat cool and composed behind the wheel, leading the car along the wide arc of the highway as it rounded the city center. The woman hadn’t said much of a word since they left the office; the back door of her car had been opened in silence, her hand reaching out for Matilda to sit down inside.

It was rather luxurious, Matilda thought. The car was sleek and elegant, just as Jocelyn herself was. She’d clearly paid a great sum of money for it judging by the dashboard’s touchscreen interface and the smooth polish to every interior surface. She laughed to herself in amusement: her secretary seemed far more wealthy than she was, and made that quite clear with everything she owned.

“Where,” Matilda finally said, not lifting her head, though her eyes met Jocelyn’s in the rear-view mirror, “are we going?”

“To my penthouse, on the west end of Almede District.”

Matilda blinked. Outside of the high-rise suites reserved for the wealthiest in downtown Crossroads, Almede was one of the nicest parts of the city. It had once been a slum, but the investment of the Nexus Corporation into the neighborhood had transformed it into one of the most up-and-coming blocks of land in town.

“I didn’t realize you lived so well,” Matilda said, her eyes once more turning to the view outside the window.

Jocelyn smiled. “In fairness, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Matilda nodded. She’d never really talked anything other than business with her secretary. Or, she realized, much of anyone. That was part of the problem, after all, and if she believed what Jocelyn had sold her on, was exactly what they were going to address.

“What,” Matilda said, her own voice sounding distant from her body, from her consciousness, “what exactly are you going to do to me?”

The car shifted, moving onto an off ramp. Outside Matilda’s window, the great spire of the Nexus Corporation building soared into the night sky, its rooftop beacon glowing like a star over the cityscape it presided over. Then, as quickly as it came into view, the car turned, sliding under the Loop, orienting itself towards their destination.

“My technique depends on the application of physical and mental pain.” Jocelyn eased the car to slower speeds as she spoke, cruising through the valleys cut by roadways between the shops and apartments of Almede District. “As I mentioned in your office, how I intend to reshape you, rebuild you, depends entirely on destroying everything you’ve been to this point. The way to do that is to push you right up to the edge of your pain tolerance.”

Matilda’s throat tightened. “What do you mean by pain?” she asked. Her voice trembled, as unsteady as her legs would be if she were standing. Her hand braced itself against the release for the car door, as though she could will herself to jump out of the moving vehicle and run away.

“There’s no need to worry. We’ll start small and build.” The same thin, enigmatic smile Jocelyn wore when she first proposed their project curled her lips. “You will be pushed hard, however; it’ll be easier to show you what I intend than it will be to try to explain everything here. I assure you, however, Ms. Langley, that you will be safe in my hands.”

“I can trust you?”

“Absolutely. Will you trust me?”

Matilda closed her eyes. She wanted relief. She thought of her body, her being, being pushed over and shattered by Jocelyn’s hand just as easily as her vase had exploded into pieces. The thought of being slowly put back together, veins of gold spiraling around the seams in her body, made her shiver.

“I do.”

“Very well.”

* * *

Matilda paused just inside of Jocelyn’s home, eyes wide, drinking the sight of it all in.

Like the woman’s car, the penthouse itself was sophisticated and luxurious. The entry lead into the main living space, an open room with kitchen and bar counter with polished counters, along with a parlor whose space was dominated by an arcing sectional couch set in front of a fireplace. A pointillist painting of the Crossroads skyline hung opposite the fireplace, while the exterior wall looked out onto a park that bounded the city’s coastal cliffs. Rain cascaded down the windows, breaking apart the park’s lamp lights into endless stars against the dark waters of the sea beyond.

To either side of the painting, she noticed, were separate doors. One surely lead to a bedroom, she realized, trying to orient herself. The other was, perhaps, a restroom? She shook her head. There had been a small washroom in the entry leading into the condo, and surely there wouldn’t be two bathrooms just beside one another.

Matilda approached the unknown door, only to pause upon noticing there was a keyed lock on the doorknob. She turned towards Jocelyn, who was just stepping out of the entry, hanging her coat in the closet there.

“You’ll see what that is soon enough,” she said with a smile, then stepped into the kitchen. “Would you like a glass of water before we begin?

Nodding, Matilda made her way over to the bar separating the kitchen from the living room. She had just settled onto one of the stools there as Jocelyn set a glass of ice water down in front of her. Taking a sip, Matilda hadn’t realized just how thirsty she was — a combination of her nerves, she supposed, and the whiskey she had in the office. She greedily drank at the glass, all while keeping her eyes on Jocelyn.

Jocelyn leaned against the counter, meeting Matilda’s eyes. “Are you still wondering what I intend to do to you?”

Matilda nodded, her throat too inundated with water to answer aloud.

“I am, quite simply, going to restrain you against the wall of my dungeon — the room you were curious about a moment ago. Shackle you in place, and proceed to beat your body until every inch of it bruises.” She smiled and folded her hands, one on top of the other, on the counter. “I’m going to lash and flog you, pull your hair like a rope, and make you scream. I may cut you. I may make you bleed.”

Matilda’s face drained to shock white, and set her glass down on the counter with what seemed an impossibly loud clatter of glass on stone. Her throat twitched. “What,” she asked, lips trembling, “are you?”

“A dominant,” Jocelyn said, her voice as smooth as silk, “and a sadist. Pain is the instrument through which I extract pleasure and catharsis from others. And I intend to bring every ounce of skill I possess to bear on you, and shatter that exterior you so desperately cling to, just as I promised.”

Every fiber of Matilda’s being screamed at her to get up and run. She stayed, frozen in place, her eyes wide. “And,” Matilda stared to speak, mouth and tongue sputtering over her words, “and if I can’t handle it…”

“Then I’ll take care of you, bring you back down, and take you home. I owe you no less.”

Jocelyn stood, crossing her arms over her chest. “Now, I know you surely have a lot of questions. And I will answer any you may have. But I can see the apprehension and fear in your body language and in the look in your eyes, so Ms. Langley, do confirm for me: do you, or do you not, want to go through with this?”

Matilda swallowed the knot in her throat. “I do,” she said, her voice sounding smaller than she intended.

Jocelyn shook her head. “Louder. More confident. Speak from your gut and not from your terror. Does the thought of me pouring down pain on you excite you, Ms. Langley?”

Matilda closed her eyes. Deep down, there was something terrifying about being subject to violence at her secretary’s hands. The more she dwelt on the thought of her hands upon her with force and singular purpose, however, the more she felt a heat deep in her belly. No one had ever touched her, much less done so with power. The more her mind sank down into her body, into consciousness of her muscle and skin, the more she realized how hungry her body was for contact.

She sat up straight, setting her shoulders. “I am,” she said, speaking through the shake in her voice, “I am at least intrigued by it.”

Jocelyn laughed, but nodded. “I suppose that will do.”

Stepping out from behind the bar counter, Jocelyn crossed into her bedroom, emerging only a few moments later with a key chain dangling from her finger. She gestured with curling fingers for Matilda to approach as she made her way to the mysterious, locked door that Matilda had noticed earlier.

The lock clicked as Matilda joined Jocelyn’s side. The knob turned, opening the doorway into…

Matilda’s eyes went wide.

The room was, as she walked inside behind Jocelyn, deceptively simple. Low, warm lighting filled the space, a blessed contrast to the bright overhead lights in the rest of the condo. The space had clearly originally been a bedroom, and even still had a bed set in the center of it.

There was, however, much more.

An X-shaped cross was bolted to the wall at one side of the bed. A long dresser sat on the opposite side, lit by a pair of electric candles on either side of a tall mirror. She stepped forward, resting her hand against the bed sheets as Jocelyn turned towards the dresser.

“I’m not the only person you’ve done this with,” Matilda said, breath-taken, her heart starting to accelerate.

“Of course not. Domination has been an interest of mine for much of my adult life.” Jocelyn’s back remained turned as she opened one drawer after another, setting things that Matilda couldn’t quite see on top. “This is my passion, Ms. Langley; my hobby, but something much more than that. I take unimaginable joy in breaking people. Why would I not create a space I could freely practice that art in, just as any artist builds their studio?”

Matilda turned, watching as Jocelyn set several instruments out on top of the bed, one by one. Long-handled devices that looked more like exotic weapons than anything intended for pleasure; broad, flat paddles, and a long-tailed cord ending in a coiled, leather barb. Matilda’s throat twitched, her fingers curling to either side of herself as her arms hung heavy from her shoulders.

“I’ve just never thought of this as an art,” Matilda said, her voice smaller than she intended.

Jocelyn turned around; a pair of cuffs draped from the fingers of one hand. “It can be, with practice. Sculpting something is an artform; so can breaking the item sculpted. Kintsugi, Ms. Langley. The art of mending the broken. Does it make sense now?”

Strangely, Matilda thought, it did. She imagined herself, shattered like the vase in her office, sprawled across the floor in pieces. Then, she thought of Jocelyn’s hands mending her back together with thin streams of gold. “It does, yes,” she said, finding the strength in her voice again.

“Good. I’m glad.” Jocelyn took a step towards Matilda. “Now, undress. Fold and lay your clothes on the bed.”

Matilda blinked. “I’m sorry?”

Jocelyn laughed, one hand resting its palm against her hip. “I imagine you don’t want me the ruin your clothes, and I can hardly do what I intend to do while you’re dressed. Undress completely, and lay your clothing on the bed.”

Matilda brought one hand up to her collar, fingers playing at the buttons at the base of her neck. “That feels inappropriate. You’re… you’re my…”

“I’m your what, exactly?”

Matilda blushed. What were they? Removed from her office, were they still executive and secretary? Or by stepping into this room, had they become something else? “I’m not sure, now.”

Closing the gap between them, Jocelyn stood toe-to-toe with Matilda, her empty hand taking hold of the other woman’s chin. Matilda’s lips trembled; the grip on her jaw felt frightening, but the warmth of Jocelyn’s fingertips against her skin felt intoxicating. A fluttering sigh spilled out of her mouth; her eyelids grew heavier.

“This evening,” Jocelyn said, “I am not your secretary, and not your subordinate. I am your top; by the morning, I may be more.” Jocelyn’s thumb stroked back along the edge of Matilda’s jaw. “Will you undress for me, or will I need to do it for you?”

The weight lifted from Matilda’s eyes; they opened wide, meeting her secretary’s gaze. “Will you do it?”

“As you wish.”

The cuffs were tossed onto the bed, while Jocelyn’s fingers relinquished their hold on Matilda’s jaw. They descended, finding their way to the buttons on her boss’ blouse, deftly sliding them through the holes keeping her shirt together. Jocelyn’s eyes remained fixed on Matilda’s face; Matilda blushed, glancing down, watching as her shirt opened down the middle and exposed her breasts setting in the cups of her bra as well as the soft curve of her stomach.

Jocelyn’s hands slid back up the sides of Matilda’s body, palms brushing ever so lightly over her chest, before taking hold of the sides of her shirt and pulling the article down her arms. She stepped back, quickly and neatly folded the shirt, and set it down onto the bed.

“Step out of your shoes.”

Matilda nodded; she slipped her feet up and back out of her flats, brushing them towards the foot of the bed. Jocelyn opened the front of her pants, loosening the clip holding them around her hips; the garment dropped to the floor. “Take one step back,” Jocelyn said, her voice crisp and exactingly sharp.

Matilda did as she was told, shaking her ankle to free them from her pants. Jocelyn crouched, scooping the clothing up, folding them as deftly as she had with the shirt before laying them as well onto the bed. “Turn,” Jocelyn said, “and face the wall.”

Matilda did, and gasped as Jocelyn tugged at the back of her bra, her hands easily unclasping the wire clips fastening it together. The touch of Jocelyn’s hands sliding over her ribs, lifting fabric away from skin, the curl of her secretary’s fingers around her breasts, pulled the strength from Matilda’s legs. She shifted her weight back, resting on her heels, leaning into Jocelyn and her touch.

Her bra straps dropped, sliding off her shoulders. Jocelyn’s hands pulled the undergarment away, folding it, dropping onto the pile of clothes now resting on the bed. They moved downwards once more, lightly brushing over the fat resting to either side of Matilda’s hips, where they slipped their fingers into the waistband of her underwear. The simple, cotton briefs dropped to her ankles, sending a cold shiver up her spine.

“Step forward.”

She did so, wrapping her arms across her chest. Her face buzzed, cheeks warm and bright in color, mind unable to process the reality of being naked in from of Jocelyn. Every curve, every imperfection, exposed and on display. She stood still, unsure of what to say, unsure of what even to do next.

A hand pressed lightly against her back, right between her shoulders. “Walk over to the cross,” Jocelyn said, her voice cool and relaxed, “and relax your arms. Let them hang loose at your sides.”

Shaking, Matilda moved towards the apparatus on the wall in front of her. It seemed frightening, stark in its simplicity. As she stood in front of it, the leather covering the front felt cool against the rounded peak of her stomach.

Out of the corners of her eyes, Matilda watched as Jocelyn stepped behind her. Warm, soft leather tightened around her wrists, followed by the firmness of the woman’s hand taking hold of her arms. One by one, they were lifted overhead; one by one, the restraints were hooked and secured to the loops at the upper reaches of the cross.

Again, just at the edges of Matilda’s vision, she watched as Jocelyn picked up one of the instruments on the bed — a long, wooden handle with soft cords of some material she couldn’t identify at a glance — and turned back towards her. “Two final things,” Jocelyn said. “In the event that you cannot take anymore, that you feel in danger, you will say the word ‘red’, and I will stop. This is critically important. Do you understand?”

Matilda swallowed the saliva filling her mouth. “I understand.”

“Lastly,” Jocelyn paused, letting silence hang in the air for a moment, “From this point forward, you are to refer to me as Madam.”

A single step forward. Matilda’s lips trembled as fingers curled around locks of hair at the back of her head, and pulled back. “Is that completely understood,” Jocelyn asked, bringing her words to a fine point.

“Yes,” Matilda said, digging her teeth into her lower lip, “Madam.”

The first bite of Jocelyn’s tool against her back stung; it was light, fleeting in its stroke across her exposed back, but bit nonetheless against pristine skin. She whimpered, the sound quiet as it trickled over her lips, a twitch shaking through her spine as the blows came first from one direction, then another, and then another still.

They started slow at first, gradually building speed. As it did, Matilda’s felt her fingers curl, the tips of them arching towards the cuffs at her wrists. The tips of the tool’s tails slapped harder against her skin, their slender edges leaving fine welts that she could feel burn, ever so slightly but nonetheless distinctly, at her back.

The strokes stopped, momentarily; Matilda gasped for breath, wondering what brought about the pause. It was only a moment later that Jocelyn struck at her, hard and sharp, at an angle from the back of her shoulder and down across her ribs. A scream broke free from Matilda’s mouth, her hands curling tight, toes raising her feet beneath her before settling back down again.

Jocelyn laughed. Matilda could feel her lean in, the woman’s breath tickling at her neck. Sharp-edged nails dragged across the lines stinging across her back. “That,” Jocelyn said, a devilish playfulness in her voice, “got a reaction out of you.”

“Y-yes,” Matilda panted.

Jocelyn stepped back suddenly, and brought another hard stroke across Matilda’s back from the other direction. “I’m sorry,” Jocelyn said, the tone of her voice as cutting as the flogger in her hand. “Yes what?”

“Yes, Madam!”

Three more strokes, each from a different direction, beat across Matilda’s back. She screamed until her voice cracked on the last, raising herself once more on the tips of her toes. Jocelyn returned to lightly beating the tips of her weapon over Matilda’s back. Matilda shuddered, tilting her head between the arms of the cross, resting her crown against the wall in front of her.

She jerked her head back again, however, as the tool swept from side to side across her back, starting beneath her shoulders and moving downwards. Each stroke made her cry out, made the breath catch in her throat, made her legs shift and wobble beneath her. Downward they beat; digging from side to side, from just below her shoulders to the curve of her bottom. Jocelyn coo’d with delight, pulling her arms back, unleashing two violent, vertical strokes, one top to bottom against each cheek.

Matilda fell back against the cross, breath panting, as Jocelyn turned and laid the instrument apart from the others on the bed.

She retrieved another: longer, with thick, braided leather, the ends tied in tight knots. “You handled the initial beating well,” she said, a hint of laughter in her voice.

“Initial?” Matilda said.

“But of course. That was merely the appetizer.” Jocelyn turned and rotated her wrist, beating the rope-like cords against Matilda’s back. Matilda groaned through grit teeth, her arms tensing. “Now, for the next course.”

Jocelyn accelerated her pace more quickly, this time. The cords of this tool bit harder, dug down into the skin. Matilda felt like her back was being cratered, pummeled and pounded by this terrible device. Her body twisted one way, then the other, reacting to the beat of each tail against her body. The sensation became like white noise in her head; prickling and loud, drowning out all other thought. She had a meeting tomorrow, didn’t she? Or maybe she didn’t. What was it about again?

Long, lashing stroke cut through the static like a jolt of electricity, sending sharp current through every nerve. She could no longer hold back her cries; she screamed on each cut of the flogger against her back. Her forehead felt warm and wet with sweat, and her legs shuddered after every touch at her skin.

Touch. A sputtering gasp bubbled past her lips as Jocelyn leaned forward, tracing nails down the ridges and valleys that defined Matilda’s back. “Well, how are we?” she said, her voice tickling at Matilda’s ear. “How is that pretty mind of yours holding together?”

Matilda nearly choked on her reply. “I don’t know!”

A step back, and a quick, lashing stroke across her bottom. “Madam!” Matilda shouted out, voice cracking once more. “I don’t know, Madam!”

“I think we’re getting somewhere!”

The corded, rope-like tailed flogger was set down, replaced in Jocelyn’s hand with the whip-like rope and its leather barb. Matilda’s throat twitched. “I feel like,” Jocelyn said, running her hand over the whip’s length, “a little further and we’ll burst those cracks and fissures under the surface wide open. Don’t you agree, dear Matilda?”

A pause. Was she supposed to reply? Matilda’s lips trembled.

The air in the room cracked, and she let loose a shrill scream.

“Don’t you agree,” Jocelyn repeated, the words heavier this time, “dear Matilda?”

Another pause. Matilda fumbled for words, trying to put something together, incoherent syllables spilling over her lips.

Crack. Her every muscle spasmed, the mounting points her cuffs were hooked to straining as she pulled against them, raising herself onto the tips of her toes.

“Answer me, Matilda,” Jocelyn said, her words as pointed as the barb cutting into Matilda’s back.

No pause this time. Crack.

Matilda screamed out her answer, and Jocelyn smiled, watching as her bottom went limp against the cross. The young woman’s body twitched, shaking and shivering, thin streams of blood trickling down her back and hips.

Jocelyn stepped forward. One hand pet through Matilda’s hair, while her lips pressed lightly against the woman’s neck.

“Now,” she whispered, closing her eyes, “the work can really begin.”


	3. Chapter 3

Matilda awoke with a groan, her body aching, her back raw as she stretched tender muscle.

Sitting up, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, the room around her coming back into focus. Dim, electric candles on the dresser kept the light in the room soft. The sheets covering her felt soft; smooth against her bare legs and hips, fabric cool against her skin. It was soothing, a sharp contrast to the burning ache radiating through her back.

She looked down at her wrists. The dimples in her skin where she’d been shackled in place were faint now, but still noticeable.

It was with that, that she took stock of the night before. She could see the cross out of the corner of her eye; the mere sight of it made her shiver, realizing how she’d been bound to it and beaten until her muscle and bone quivered, seemingly liquified beneath her skin into something semi-solid and unstable. Reaching behind herself with one hand, she ran her fingertips over the welts in her skin, feeling them burn ever so slightly beneath her touch. A light gasp, a flutter of air, spilled over her lips at the contact.

Cracks and fissures, she thought to herself. The process of breaking her down had begun, just as Jocelyn had promised her.

Calculating every movement with respect to her aching body, she pushed back the bed sheets, turning herself until her feet met the bedroom floor. It was then that she noticed the silk robe hanging on a hook beside the door into the living space. Hopefully, she thought, it wouldn’t be too strange to wear that and nothing else upon exiting the room.

A quiet laugh. Strange, compared to what, exactly? She crossed the room, wrapping herself in the robe, tying the sash around her waist with a firm knot over her belly. The material felt gentle, soothing, against her back. A blessed relief, she thought to herself.

She opened the door.

Jocelyn was seated on the couch, dressed in loose, black pants and a white tank top. Her hands cradled a coffee mug, a thin line of steam rising from it as she sipped on its contents. Her eyes shifted from her drink to Matilda, though, as soon as Matilda stepped through the doorway.

“Good morning,” Jocelyn said, setting her drink down on the table in front of her. “I hope you slept well.”

Matilda blinked, not knowing how to answer at first. She had slept well, as it turned out, for what felt like the first time in ages. Her head didn’t feel cloudy; her body didn’t crave caffeine as immediately as she was used to.

“I think so,” Matilda answered. She turned to the windows looking out on the Crossroads cityscape. “What time is it?

“Ten in the morning. You’re a heavy sleeper,” Jocelyn said, grinning. “Though I suppose that’s to be expected after your first scene.”

Ten in the morning. Matilda blinked, then felt her heart accelerate. “Jocelyn, the brunch meeting! I’m supposed to be there in an hour and…”

“No need to worry. I canceled things late last night, after I helped you lay down.” Jocelyn leaned back into the couch cushions, crossing her legs together, one knee over the other. “I informed the parties involved that you were sick from overworking yourself. They got back to me earlier this morning and agreed to move the meeting out a few weeks. The restaurant reservation has also been rescheduled. Very tied up and taken care of.”

Matilda exhaled the breath she’d been holding onto. “You really are prepared for everything.”

“That’s my job, is it not? Now,” Jocelyn said, gesturing with an upturned palm, “come over here. And take the robe off for a moment.”

Blushing, Matilda nonetheless approached, loosening the belt on her only garment. Rolling her shoulders, she slipped out of it, draping the fabric over one forearm.

“Turn your back to me.”

Again, Matilda complied. A gasp poured forth from her mouth as Jocelyn’s fingers met her battered skin, fingertips and nails playing over the cuts and welts streaking across her back. She sank her teeth down into her lower lip with careful pressure, trying not to move as she was touched.

“I did some very nice work on you, last night,” Jocelyn said. Matilda could hear the pride and contentment in her voice. Like an artist, she thought, admiring a finished piece. “This will all bruise nicely. You’ll ache for a day or two, but after that, it should subside. The marks will take a few weeks to fully heal, however.”

Matilda blinked. “Weeks?”

Jocelyn laughed, a light and playful sound. “I went pretty hard on you. Go in the bathroom and have a look, if you want to see for yourself. Feeling things is one matter; actually seeing the damage done is something else entirely, and I think you deserve to see what I did with you.”

Looking at the robe for a moment, unsure of what to do with it, Matilda settled on laying it onto the couch next to Jocelyn. It felt strange to walk through her condo completely naked. She would never dare do this elsewhere, not even in her own home. Somehow, though, she didn’t feel as guilty about it here as she would anywhere else.

She entered the bathroom, switching the lights on, and turning her back to the mirror sitting over the sink and vanity counter. A sharp gasp escaped her; Jocelyn was more than right. It was one thing to feel every little mark that had been left on her body. It was something else to see the bright red lines and rose-colored splotches arrayed across her back. It was shocking — in fact, exhilarating — to see the bruises blooming over her skin, from her shoulders down to her bottom.

She barely noticed Jocelyn entering the bathroom next to her, arms crossed as her eyes scanned the reflection in the mirror. “What do you think,” asked Jocelyn, her smile from before only growing wider as she took in her handiwork in detail.

“It’s incredible, honestly.” Matilda blushed, unable to bring herself to turn back around. The sight of her battered back was a humbling sight to drink in. “I didn’t think I could handle all of that.”

“Honestly, I wasn’t sure at first if you could, either.”

It was then that Matilda turned around, her gaze meeting Jocelyn’s. “You didn’t?”

“I wasn’t completely sure, no. You seemed a little hesitant before we started.” Jocelyn stepped closer; Matilda noticed then that she was carrying the robe she had taken off earlier. Jocelyn draped the garment back onto Matilda’s shoulders. “I was fully prepared for you to call the safe word once I started to go harder. But you handled it. I’m quite proud of you, honestly.”

_Proud._ Matilda blushed. Had anyone ever been proud of her before? “T-thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. But this is only the beginning. If you’re ready to continue discussing matters, we’ll go back into the living room.”

Matilda blinked. “What is there to discuss?”

“Our relationship, going forward. But first, coffee. I imagine you might like a cup.”

* * *

The coffee was perfect, Matilda thought as she curled up on the opposite end of the couch from Jocelyn. Rich and dark, with just a splash of cream and a hint of sugar. It was much darker than what she normally drank, and far sharper in taste, but it seemed perfect in light of the previous nights rush of sensation and feeling. Smooth and strong. Much like Jocelyn, she found herself thinking.

It felt strange to sit on this other woman’s couch, she mused, wearing nothing but a loosely tied bathrobe. It felt comfortable, however; relaxed, compared to the rush she often found herself in, pinging from home, to work, and back again. It was as though someone had turned up the volume of her life the previous night, drowning out the white noise that constantly filled her head, and now that it had subsided in intensity she was left with a soothing quiet.

“I hope you don’t mind how strong the coffee is,” Jocelyn said. “I drink mine fairly strong.”

“No, it’s fine.” Matilda smiled, letting the warmth of her drink flow through the ceramic walls of the mug and into her fingertips. “I think I like it this way.”

Jocelyn nodded, took a last sip of her drink, and set the empty mug down. “So, how are we feeling after last night?”

“Physically, or mentally?”

“Both, of course.”

Matilda bowed her head, looking down into her drink. What did she feel, anyway? “Physically, I ache all over. But you said that was normal, so I don’t feel too strange about it. I’m just… not used to something so vivid.”

“I would imagine. That was probably more intense than anything you’ve ever experienced.”

“It was. By leaps and bounds.”

“Good.” Jocelyn folded her hands on top of her legs. “And mentally?”

Matilda sank into thought. What did her mind feel like? It seemed hard to piece together; it felt like her head was far more shattered than her back felt. What kind of words could she wrap around what she was feeling, what words would make sense?

“Mentally, I…” Matilda paused, closing her eyes, letting her thoughts settle inside her head. “Mentally, I feel broken. Which I know was what you meant. The whole idea of breaking me down, and just… I don’t think I was prepared for what that would feel like. I think I’m still reeling from it all.”

“That’s perfectly normal.”

Matilda looked up from her drink, her eyes meeting Jocelyn’s smile. There was something gentle, soothing, about her expression. It was incredible, she thought, how this woman could switch from being overpoweringly dominant on the one hand, to compassionate and understanding on the other. The two concepts seemed so utterly divorced from themselves in theory, and yet, in Jocelyn they felt seamlessly married together into one complex whole.

“Today will be easier. Last night was about breaking through your hesitance, your reluctance, to let go of control over yourself. I pushed you hard to get you to crack. Today, we let you lean into feeling. Sensation, but a different sort from what I gave you last night.”

“Today?” Matilda blinked, her mind stuck on that one word.

“Of course. This is an ongoing project, Matilda, and we’ve only just scratched the surface, in more ways than one.”

Anxiety started to creep over Matilda; she pushed it down, keeping her eyes fixed on Jocelyn, trying to connect with the other woman’s confidence. “What’s going to happen today?”

“Something that I hope will relax you. However, you need to tend to some things first.”

“What things?”

Jocelyn laughed and leaned back into her seat. “For one, you’ll want a shower. And secondly, you’ll be helping me cook brunch.”

Matilda blinked. “I… I’ve never… I don’t know how to… I’m not really any good in the kitchen.”

“Well, then,” Jocelyn said. “I guess you’re going to learn.”

* * *

Pans and mixing bowls clattered together in the sink, the sound mingled with the rush of water from the faucet. The feeling of wrinkled fingers was strange to Matilda; she was used to meals being delivered, or at least, hastily picked up on the way to and from work. The idea of cooking a meal, and then cleaning up afterwards, was unfamiliar to her thought process, as well as her skin.

It was stranger, still, to do all of this in a kitchen that wasn’t hers.

Jocelyn sat across the island counter from her, a champagne flute filled most of the way with a second mimosa, her fingers dusting the crumbs off of themselves and onto the plate in front of her from the triangle of avocado on toast she had finished. Jocelyn had lead during meal preparation; giving direction and demonstrating technique throughout. Now, though, that the dishes were all that were left to be done, the task was one Matilda was to take care of on her own.

“How,” Matilda started, cleaning the inside of a steel bowl, “did I do with breakfast? I hope it wasn’t too bad.”

“You did fine.” Jocelyn took a long sip on her drink. “The eggs were a little overdone, but everything else tasted fine. You followed my directions to the letter and I appreciate that.”

Matilda blushed. More praise, she realized; was she really that deprived of kind words? She turned her head downward, redoubling her efforts on finishing the dishes. “Thank you,” she said, her voice hushed.

It was a surprise, then, to feel Jocelyn’s fingertips on her jaw, tilting her head upward, until their eyes met one another. “Look up at me when I compliment you. I’m expressing my gratitude for your behavior.”

Matilda swallowed. An ever so slight tremble fluttered over her lips at the touch of fingers to her skin. The vivid memory of nails at her back, weaving their way around bright, red welts, buzzed at the back of her mind. She let her eyes lock with Jocelyn’s, refusing to blink or waver. “Thank you,” she repeated, the silent pause after interrupted only by the crash of steel against cast iron.

“Fuck!” Matilda jerked back, pulling away from Jocelyn’s hand as water sprayed around the sink bowl and up onto the counter. She lunged forward, moving the bowl away from the stream pouring from the faucet, catching a splash of water on her robe and face in the process.

“Are you alright?” Jocelyn’s question was sincere, concerned, but a hint of laughter betrayed the amusement in her voice with Matilda’s awkward scramble. “I’m sorry, I should have given you some forewarning before doing that.”

Matilda shook her head. “No! It’s really okay! I’m sorry. The water didn’t get you too, did it?”

A few drops of water spread across the top of Jocelyn’s pajamas. “No, it’s fine,” she said with a wave of her hand. “It’s nothing to worry about. A little water never hurt anyone.”

“It hurt the Wicked Witch,” Matilda offered.

Jocelyn snorted; fingers that had reached towards her glass pulled away instead, switching to cover her mouth and laughter. Her eyes locked with Matilda’s again as she composed herself, though still maintaining a hint of humor in her smile. “Is that what you’re comparing me to, then?”

“N-no!” Matilda shook her head, eyes wide. “Not at all!”

“Then what would you compare me to?”

Gathering herself back together, Matilda rummaged through her mind for words, and found none. “I don’t have anything that I can think of that compares to you. You’re a category completely to yourself.”

Nodding, Jocelyn took her glass, finishing the last of her mimosa. She held the empty glass out to Matilda, her smile curling as the woman quickly, carefully, took it from her grasp and started washing it.

“If I may ask,” Matilda said, her voice quiet as she focused on her chore, “what would you compare me to?”

Jocelyn shifted to one side, resting her elbow on the counter and her cheek against the heel of her palm. Her eyes settled closed, only momentarily, as she pondered the question. “I would compare you to clay, dear Matilda. Clay that I am going to take a lot of pleasure in shaping.”

“Shape into what?”

“You’re going to see, Matilda. In all honesty, I haven’t fully decided yet what I want to do, and how I want to proceed, because part of that is a dialogue with you.”

Easing off her bar stool, Jocelyn walked around the counter, stopping just beside Matilda, her fingers resting lightly on the granite surface. The other hand reached up, laying itself against Matilda’s back. Pressure worked through the thin layer of silk, down to Matilda’s marks, pulling a sharp exhale from Matilda’s lips. She had to be doing it on purpose, Matilda thought to herself. Nonetheless, she leaned into the touch, letting her welts burn hotter under the contact.

“There’s still work to be done in fully breaking you. One night will not do the trick.” Jocelyn’s hand stroked down the length of Matilda’s back. “This afternoon and tonight will be the next step in the process. There will be others. They will get increasingly more unfamiliar, and possibly more uncomfortable. But I will be with you, every step of the way.”

Matilda blinked. What could be more alien, more frightening, than what she went through the night before? “And then,” she said, her eyes still turned down towards the sink, “you’ll rebuild me?”

“Of course. You may not recognize what you’ve become, however.”

Matilda was left speechless as Jocelyn pulled her hand away, the tap of her bare feet receding across the kitchen floor. “Now, finish the dishes. We have some business — actual business, mind you — to address. And then we’ll have some fun.”

“Yes, Madam,” Matilda answered, the title slipping past her lips before she realized it. She covered her mouth, surprised, looking towards Jocelyn for her reaction, only to see nothing but the woman’s curious smile before she turned away and walked back into the living room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matilda dives further into play with Jocelyn, experiencing a plethora of sensations she was unprepared for...

Matilda knelt on the bed in Jocelyn’s spare bedroom — in Jocelyn’s dungeon, she supposed was the best word for it — and waited. Her robe had been removed, taken from her shoulders and back by her secretary and returned to its place on the back of the bedroom door. Her bare bottom and thighs rested upon the backs of her legs, her hands laying neatly in her lap, while her eyes followed Jocelyn around the room.

Jocelyn held a tin canister in one hand, the other holding a lighter with a flickering flame dancing from its top. The light felt brilliant in the dimly-lit room; Matilda’s eyes were drawn to it like a moth, fixated on the dancing spark of illumination that had seemingly sprung forth from the other woman’s hand.

She watched as Jocelyn set the lighter down on the dresser, then walked towards the bed. “What is that,” she asked, unsure of what exactly her secretary had planned for her.

Jocelyn smiled. “What does it look like?”

“A candle,” Matilda answered. “But I don’t see what that has to do with… with whatever we’re doing.”

Nodding, Jocelyn set the candle on the nightstand beside the bed, folding her hands over her hips. There were other items sitting beside where the light was placed; things Matilda couldn’t identify, but that she was sure were intended for use on her. “Last night was about pain. I needed to bring you up and over the edge of any sensation you’d experienced before. Tonight will be more intimate. It will be about sensation, but a much more tender kind. I want you to enjoy a wide spectrum of feelings, Matilda.”

A lump formed in Matilda’s throat. Her eyes danced back and forth between the candle and Jocelyn. “But what does the candle have to do with that?”

“The candle,” Jocelyn continued, “will be the first of three different sensations I share with you tonight. We will step forward, raising the intensity a little at a time, until we reach the end. Each additional layer of feeling will heighten your body’s sensitivity. By the end, you’ll likely be struggling to contain your reaction to what you’re feeling.”

A shiver raced through Matilda; she shook it off, focusing her eyes on Jocelyn. “You seem confident of that.”

The other woman grinned, a quiet laugh slipping past her lips. “Because I am, my dear Matilda. Now, lay out on your back. We’ll begin momentarily.”

Matilda did as she was told, letting her still-wounded back lay light over the sheets beneath her and her limbs lay out, relaxed and limp, to her sides. Her eyes, though, stayed trained on Jocelyn, watching as the woman picked up the candle, testing her hand over it.

Jocelyn’s attention turned to her, a playful look in her eyes as she rolled her wrist slowly. The scent of vanilla and lavender teased at Matilda’s nose. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Matilda answered, summoning a nervous smile.

Nodding, Jocelyn tipped the candle. A thin stream of wax poured through the air; Matilda gasped as the hot semi-liquid splashed against her breasts, sending a pulse of heat deep into her body. The wax dripped in a circle around one breast, crossed her sternum, then curled in another loop on the other side of her chest.

Her thighs pulled upwards, buckling at the knees. A heavy breath poured past her lips as her eyes found Jocelyn’s again.

“I take it you felt something?” Jocelyn’s voice was teasing, prickling at Matilda’s mind as easily as the drying wax clung to her skin.

“Yes,” Matilda said, nodding eagerly.

She gasped as Jocelyn’s fingers coiled into her hair, tilting her head, bringing her eyes directly under the other woman’s gaze. “Did we forget so soon, or did brunch and work earlier lull you into complacency?” Her voice sent a chill through Matilda, overriding the fading warmth of the wax. “How are you supposed to address me, Matilda?”

Matilda swallowed, her lips trembling from the pressure on her scalp. “Yes, Madam.”

Jocelyn’s grip relaxed, her fingers freeing themselves from loops of Matilda’s hair. “Much better,” she said, her hand tilting the still-raised candle back and forth, “Now, would we like some more?”

Matilda looked up at the candle, excited at the possibilities of its deeply saturating heat. “Yes, Madam,” she repeated, smiling up at the woman standing over her. “I would like more.”

Once more, the wax poured forth, streaming down against the top of Matilda’s chest. She gasped as the stream wound its way downwards, between her breasts and over the curve of her stomach, ending in a fast curl around her navel. Her fingers curled into the sheets, tugging on them, her breath coming rushed as the wax cooled and hardened, lending its warmth to her body.

Fingers brushed against Matilda’s cheek. She turned her head, surprised to see Jocelyn leaning down over her. Entirely without words, she simply looked up into the rich brown of Jocelyn’s eyes, the curl of her lashes, the slim lines of her brows curved in long arcs above them. She remembered how beautiful, how commanding, Jocelyn had been as she stood over Matilda’s desk, asking her to take the leap into this world of hers. Her mind juxtaposed the image with the calm, sensuous, playful woman above her, this complicated mix of power and peace.

“More, my Matilda?”

Matilda blushed. “Yes, Madam.”

Again, the wax poured down into her, splashing in drops against her thighs, the heat teasing at her loins. Her fingers sank their grip deeper into the bedding. Her legs twisted, sending still-liquid wax running down the insides of her thighs, which drove her to curl her toes against the sheets. Matilda could hear a quiet laugh from Jocelyn, followed by the shift of the mattress beneath her as Jocelyn climbed up onto her shins, kneeling beside her hips.

“More?”

Matilda nodded quickly. “Yes, Madam, please!”

She let loose a quiet cry as the wax met her legs once again, riding up the length of one, over her hips, and around the mound of her pubic bone. Another broke free from her lips as Jocelyn’s fingers danced over sensitive skin, peeling away the hardened wax from her belly, a caress of her fingertips soothing the flood of sensation rippling outward from the point of contact. Heat, and then touch; the sensations intermingled in Matilda’s mind, the border between them blurring until one sensation merged into the other.

“M-Madam,” Matilda sputtered, struggling to make words. “This is so good…”

Jocelyn nodded, then eased backwards until she lifted her weight from the bed. Matilda’s eyes followed her back to the nightstand, watching as she blew out the candle and set it down. Jocelyn, though, tutted and reached forward, her fingertips pressing against Matilda’s scalp and urging her head to turn straight once more.

“Ah, ah,” she said, a playful giggle in her voice. “No looking. The anticipation is half the fun.”

She wasn’t wrong, Matilda thought, as she brought her gaze forward once more. Not knowing what Jocelyn had in store for her was a thrill. Where she would normally feel nervous, fluttering, aching sensations in her belly, she felt a tingle of energy prickle at her nerves, keeping them on edge at what was going to happen next.

She didn’t have to wait long. Something cold pressed down against her skin; Matilda hissed, the exhalation turning to a shuddering gasp, as the icy sensation spread across her belly. Looking down, she met Jocelyn’s eyes, the other woman smiling at her as she lifted the item in her hand away from Matilda’s skin.

“Ice?” Matilda asked, her breath settling back to normal.

“I showed you fire,” Jocelyn said, her legs crossed as she sat along the edge of the bed, “so naturally, the opposite must follow.”

Matilda nodded, then hissed again as the ice pressed against her skin. Trails of melting water dribbled over the curve of her belly. Jocelyn’s hand lead it upwards, towards Matilda’s sternum, the cold sinking down into the core of Matilda’s body as it traced over her body.

She had just started to settle into the spreading sensation when it arced over one breast, curling in tightening spirals. Matilda’s breath came faster, her head turning until her cheek was buried against the pillow. Teeth grit together; she hissed as intense cold was ground against hardening nipples, her chest rising and falling and rubbing her sensitive skin against the piece of ice twisting over her.

“M-Madam…” Matilda stuttered as the ice was taken off one nipple, only to have it ground slowly against the other. She cried out, biting her lip. Her arms bent at the elbow, instinct propelling her to move toward swatting the offending piece of ice away from her body, but hesitant to act upon the impulse.

Jocelyn looked her in the eyes. “Is there a problem, Matilda?”

The ice was lifted away quickly, exposing the chilled skin to the air in the room. Gasping, Matilda shook her head. Blush covered her cheeks, her hands falling slowly back to her sides. “No, Madam,” she answered, her eyes simply focusing on Jocelyn as the woman hovered over her. “No, Madam, I’m okay…”

“You were going to swat the ice away, weren’t you?”

Matilda blushed brighter. “I was starting to feel very sens-”

Jocelyn, however, shook her head. “Ah,” she corrected, raising a single finger straight up. “Just answer the question. Were you, or were you not, going to swat the ice away?”

Matilda fought the urge to look away, to break the eye-to-eye connection between the two of them. “Y-yes, Madam. I tried to swat the ice away.”

Jocelyn nodded, her eyes closed as she considered this. Despite the fading cold on her chest, Matilda could feel sweat on her brow, fear building as she wondered how her secretary might process this admission.

Easing off the bed, Jocelyn took a step towards the nightstand, opening a drawer, withdrawing something from inside. Matilda kept her eyes on the ceiling, remembering what the other woman had said when she previously tried to see what was happening next.

The room was silent for a moment, until an electric crackle faintly filled the air. Matilda swallowed; the noise sent a chill down her spine, more powerful than that provoked by the cold that had been pressed against her breasts mere moments before. “Wh-” she started to ask, a shudder to her voice. “M-Madam, what is that?”

A faint laugh mingled in the air with the electric hum. “I was going to be nice and let you enjoy the cold a little longer,” Jocelyn started, the mattress shifting beneath Matilda as the other woman settled herself back down on top of it. “But since you didn’t like the cold so much, I suppose I’ll have to share a very different, much more potent sensation with you.”

Matilda hardly had time to react. Fingers brushed over her nipples, sending an electric buzz through sensitive skin. She let loose a sharp cry, her body twisting on the bed. Jocelyn’s hand immediately went to one wrist, pushing it down against the sheets beneath them, sending another burst of vivid energy racing through her hand and arm.

“This,” Jocelyn said, a teasing lilt to her voice, “is called a violet wand. What you’re feeling is electricity flowing through you skin and into your nerves and muscles. What do we think?”

“I,” Matilda said, gasping for breath, “I don’t know, Madam!”

“You don’t know?” Jocelyn scoffed, staring down at Matilda. “Well, then, I guess we’ll have to explore further.”

Matilda cried out again as Jocelyn’s fingers pinched around her nipples, the pads of her fingertips pressing around the erect nubs, sending a jolt of lightning straight through Matilda’s chest. She hissed between grit teeth, the crackle of electricity unrelenting as Jocelyn’s fingers massaged her.

One hand relented, pulling away from Matilda’s breast, the other hand simply petting over the opposite breast and down her stomach. She turned her head, pressing her cheek into her pillow, body shuddering as the prickling of raw energy traveled through her from top to bottom. There was a brief respite, a slow pause in the torture, before fingertips and nails raked down her sides, sending an even stronger wave of power flowing through her body.

Matilda hissed through clenched teeth, her eyes watering, as Jocelyn’s hands traveled down her sides. Thumbs sank down into her hip bones; electricity coursed through Matilda’s lower body, teasing at her loins, drawing another cry from her lips.

“Matilda,” Jocelyn’s voice teased, “What do we think?”

“I don’t know, Madam!”

Jocelyn shook her head, a disapproving frown on her face. “Matilda, do I need to touch you somewhere more sensitive to get an answer out of you?”

“M-more sensitive?”

Matilda twisted as she felt Jocelyn’s touch on the insides of her thighs, the energy pouring forth from the woman’s fingertips spreading up their length. Matilda’s breath accelerated, racing as Jocelyn’s touch moved upwards, drawing closer to her hips. She pressed her face harder against her pillow, chest pulsing rapidly with every inhalation and exhalation, her belly warm and body vibrating with potential.

Jocelyn leaned down, her lips hovering beside Matilda’s ear. “Tell me, Matilda…”

Fingers eased towards the top of Matilda’s thighs, concentrating power there. Matilda sputtered, fighting for speech, feeling the tension twist into knots in her loins. “Madam, please!”

Teeth dug into Matilda’s ear lobe. Fingers glanced over the outermost flesh of her vulva. “Tell me what you think, Matilda, of what I’m doing to you.”

Matilda’s breath shuddered. “Madam, _please_, I’m going to… I want to…”

The tip of Jocelyn’s tongue brushed against her ear. “Tell me.”

“I’m going to! I can’t! I’m!”

“Matilda.”

Matilda’s toes curled. “Madam, I’m going to come!”

A faint giggled in her ear. Fingers spread Matilda open, pouring electricity down into her depths. “Then let go and do it,” Jocelyn answered.

Matilda responded with a loud, sharp cry, as her world broke into pieces and fell in upon themselves.

* * *

The morning had been a blur. The evening had been a blur. Matilda still felt blurred all over, her mind reeling from the weekend as she stared into the mirror of her office’s en-suite bathroom.

She struggled to process what had happened after the events of the previous evening; her mind felt liquefied still, rendered into a mosaic of pieces that were then thrown into a box together and shaken violently until all concept of pattern or image had been irretrievably lost. There had even been a day in between, a Sunday between the intensity of Saturday night and the normalcy of this Monday morning, but that day was lost to the fog that had settled into her mind in between.

Matilda splashed water over her face before patting herself dry with a hand towel. Her body felt sluggish, slow, in a way that coffee didn’t seem capable of solving. Two cups, and it still proved difficult to work her way through morning emails. Two cups, and it took every ounce of willpower to review what she and Jocelyn had discussed Friday evening and Saturday afternoon with regards to the merger discussion. Two cups of coffee, and multiple readings over notes, and her mind was only starting to come to grips with what would be discussed in a few weeks time, when the merger was rescheduled to be finalized.

She rubbed her eyes and turned from the bathroom sink, stepping back out into her office. She would sort it out. Probably. Possibly.

“Good morning, Ms. Langley.”

Matilda blinked. Jocelyn was seated in the chair she had occupied during their meeting Friday night, her notebook resting in her lap. The other woman smiled at her, a knowing look in her eyes as she met Matilda’s started gaze. “I take it you had plenty of time to rest, yesterday?”

Matilda’s lips moved wordlessly for a moment. Finally, she found the mental energy to summon words. “I think I slept most of the day.”

Jocelyn nodded. “That was a lot for you to take in, in one weekend. I figured I would let you sleep it off before touching base with you.”

Nodding, Matilda walked to her desk, dropping into her chair. “I still feel like hell. Groggy. I think I’m still sore in places.”

“That’s to be expected. Bodies and minds aren’t used to vivid, intense sensation happening all at once.” Jocelyn crossed her legs, resting an elbow against the arm of her chair. “Given that it was your first time, I imagined you would drop pretty hard once your brain and body caught up with everything you’d been through. Don’t worry,” she added with a smile, “it’s completely normal to feel that way.”

Matilda nodded, settling back into her chair, only to feel the faint sting of the bruises on her back respond to the pressure placed upon them. Still, she savored the feeling, letting the warm pain radiate through her body. “Thank you for the reassurance,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment.

“Checking up on you is part of play; part of the relationship.”

A sigh spilled past Matilda’s lips. “You’re really invested in this, aren’t you?”

“I have to be. What I do is extremely intense. Making sure you’re in a healthy state of mind afterwards is vital to ensuring the relationship can continue. I still have a lot of work to do with you, my dear Matilda.”

Matilda shivered at the switch from her last to her first name. She nodded, opening her eyes, meeting Jocelyn’s gaze from across the room. “So,” she started, arms resting heavy on the arms of her chair, “what happens now?”

Jocelyn smiled. “What do you want to have happen next?”

Matilda wasn’t prepared for the question to be turned back at her. She blinked, trying to make sense of it all, and struggled to come up with anything. “You said you had only begun to break me. Is that still the case?”

“That is the case,” Jocelyn answered. “There’s a lot more to break through. Then, of course, there is the rebuilding process.”

“And what will that involve,” Matilda said, closing her eyes once more, “Madam?”

“More pain. More sensation.”

Matilda shivered. “What else?”

“Trust and obedience. Next weekend, I will give you something special.”

Matilda slowly sat forward, opening her eyes wide, caught off guard. “Something special?”

“Friday evening, you gave me your permission to break you. You entrusted your body and mind to me, and I handled them both with power and responsibility. Do you agree, my Matilda?”

Matilda considered this. She had been cared for, even in the midst of feeling overpowering, overwhelming sensation. “You did, Madam.”

“This weekend, we will take things a step further. Will you give me not simply your permission, not merely your trust, but your submission to me as well, Matilda Langley? The choice is yours, and yours alone. But in order for things to proceed as I have planned, I will need complete power over you, as I hinted at when we first approached this relationship.”

“What,” Matilda said, her voice shaking, “will that entail?”

“I will direct how you dress, how you present yourself, how you compose every aspect of your life. You will spend your weekends with me. You will be required to check in with me every morning. Every evening, you will leave this office and pamper yourself, and you will report how you do so to me. More than that, but we will let things unfold naturally.”

Jocelyn uncrossed her legs, easing out of her chair and closing the distance to Matilda’s desk. Her palms laid against the solid, wooden surface, her body leaning forward over the front edge, easing into Matilda’s space. “You’ve given me your permission to break your body. Let me break the rest of you now, as well. Let me rebuild you, Matilda. Let me transform you into something magnificent.”

Matilda’s lips trembled in awe. “Kintsugi,” she said, her voice a reverent whisper.

“Precisely,” Jocelyn answered, a trickster’s smile on her face. “What do you say?”

Matilda thought back to the weekend. To the bite of leather and suede at her back. To the mild burn of wax, the intensity of ice, the wicked power of electricity coursing through her. Desire overtook fear, the craving for more burying the anxiety of what unknown she was stepping into. She was uncertain as to what Jocelyn fully wanted from her, but she was eager to dive in.

“I give you my submission,” she said, her voice trembling.

Jocelyn leaned forward, pressing a light kiss to Matilda’s forehead. “Very well then, my dear Matilda.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Play spills over into work, with revealing results. Punishment and pleasure combine to push Matilda to the very edge of what she can handle.

Matilda kept her eyes steady on the road as she made the drive from the office to Jocelyn’s condo. The Inner Loop made a wide arc around downtown, which she couldn’t help but hate in the moment. Every nerve within her buzzed with activity, her mind spinning through the possibilities of what this second weekend would hold between her and her secretary.

The week had offered various clues. Mid-week, while she was eating lunch, Jocelyn had stepped into her office with a seamstress’ measuring tape in hand. With a delicate touch, she’d wrapped the tape around Matilda’s neck, noting the circumference of her manager’s neck. The encounter had made Matilda quiver; feeling Jocelyn’s hands by her throat brought back memories of the previous weekend and the sensations that had poured down on her.

A tremble overtook Matilda, racing from her shoulders down into her belly. She inhaled sharply, hands tightening their grip on the steering wheel, urging herself to concentrate on the journey to her destination.

What was she walking into, she wondered to herself. The previous weekend had taken her by storm. Nothing could have prepared her; the feeling of being beaten, warmed, chilled, and touched with raw electric spark was beyond anything she could have imagined. Her wildest fantasies paled in the face of what one weekend had taught her.

And Jocelyn had promised her even more.

A twinge of guilt crept into the back of her mind. Did she not owe something to Jocelyn in return? Should she not return the satisfaction that she’d been given? That was, as far as she knew, how sex was supposed to work, wasn’t it?

She blinked. Was what they had done sex?

It was awkward to consider. At forty-one, she was still a virgin. She hadn’t even made out with anyone in school or college, or done anything with another person. Playing with herself to the fantasy of one day finding just that right person was one thing, but adding another person into the mix of her pleasure felt utterly daunting.

And, yet, wasn’t that exactly what she and Jocelyn had done, she asked herself?

Matilda shook her head. No, what happened between them was something else entirely, she decided, something she couldn’t quite put a label to. She had been naked in front of Jocelyn, been touched and beaten by her, opened herself to feelings she’d never even considered before. But, she reiterated to herself, that was something entirely different from having sex with her secretary.

Was that even something she wanted from Jocelyn? Would she allow it? A voice in the back of her mind raised the question of whether she had a choice in matters. She’d elected to give herself entirely to this other woman. Did she have a choice in matters? If Jocelyn felt so inclined as to have sex with her, could she say no? Could she still stop things, at this stage, after what they’ve been through already?

She shook her head. There was no use ruminating over the possibility, not in the car like this. The answers could only come from Jocelyn herself. She would, she decided, raise the question. She had to. Fear of falling too fast had crept in around the corners of her dreams and she wanted to dispel them before they sank their tendrils in too deeply into her mind.

The GPS on her dashboard chimed, alerting her to the approaching exit. In the same moment, a text message from Jocelyn appeared on the console.

_Looking forward to continuing tonight. I think you’ll enjoy what I have in store :)_, it said.

Matilda swallowed the lump in her throat. She could only hope the other woman’s assessment came true.

* * *

The door to the condo opened, and Matilda gasped.

Jocelyn stood in the doorway, dressed in tight leggings that highlighted the shape of her thighs and the curve of her hips. A leather corset adorned her chest, the regal violet and black piece lifting her breasts and creating a deep valley of cleavage between them. Red hair fell in looping crests, drawn down from the bun they were usually straightened up into, spilling over her shoulders and framing a face with rich purple eyeshadow and dark lipstick.

“I’ve been expecting you, Matilda,” Jocelyn said with a smile. She stepped aside, gesturing for Matilda to enter. “Please, come in. We have much to explore tonight.”

Matilda nodded and crossed the threshold into the hallway that lead towards her secretary’s parlor. Jocelyn lead, hips swaying as she walked into the main room. The lights inside were dimmed; as Matilda cleared the hallway, she could see candles lit on the mantle above the fireplace, as well as on the table in front of Jocelyn’s couch.

Closer still, and she could see a variety of items arranged in an arc on the table.

The butterfly shaped object, she recognized instantly, and blushed. She owned such a vibrator herself, but rarely ever used it. It dated back at least twenty years; she wasn’t even sure hers still worked anymore. A friend in college had bought it for her as a novelty gift, but after a few hesitant attempts to try it, her embarrassment with using such a toy overcame her desire to feel a satisfying orgasm. So, it was tucked away into a bedroom drawer, ignored and largely forgotten.

This one, however, seemed far more sophisticated. Instead of the wired controls hers had included, Jocelyn’s seemed to feature a wireless, handheld control, which sat next to the toy itself on the table. Beside those was a slender, leather choker, embellished with a few gemstones to either side of a metal ring at the front. Next to those, a set of four leather cuffs rested in a pile, metal D-rings attached to each.

“What,” Matilda said, her steps becoming more halting as she approached the couch, “did you have in mind this evening, Madam?”

Jocelyn met her gaze and smiled before settling down on the couch. “Undress and fold your clothing. Leave everything on the end of the couch. Once naked, you’ll sit on the cushion on the other side of the table. Is that clear, Matilda?”

Matilda started to nod, only to have Jocelyn wag a finger at her. “Answer me out loud,” Jocelyn said, voice pointed.

“Y-yes, Madam,” Matilda answered as she removed her blazer.

Jocelyn smiled and crossed her legs at the knees. “You know, if you continue to forget to address me properly, there will be pain in your future. In fact, that might be something I’ve already committed to inflicting on you.”

Matilda paused, her lip trembling as her fingers undid the last button on her blouse. “I’m very sorry, Madam. I don’t mean you any disrespect.”

“I know you don’t, but my point stands. Things should be reinforced to make them stick better in your mind. That’s important, my dear Matilda.” Jocelyn settled back into her seat, hands folded on top of her lap. “Do continue, by the way. I would like to start as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Madam!”

Matilda finished undressing quickly, folding each article of clothing in succession and laying it out on the arm of the sofa. The apartment air felt cool on her bare skin, an unnerving drop in temperature that reminded her faintly of the chilling touch of ice against her breasts. She noticed the pillow, sitting on the floor in front of Jocelyn’s coffee table, and settled herself down onto it.

She looked up at Jocelyn from across the table. In the candlelight, she couldn’t help but see her secretary as impressive and powerful. The silver jewelry draped over her collarbone, the amethyst ring sparkling on her hand, the bright blue of her eyes commanded every ounce of her attention. It was no wonder, Matilda told herself, that Jocelyn found it so easy to feel dominant and commanding. She exuded it, from every inch of her body, an aura of control and respect that radiated outward from her presence.

“You look quite beautiful in this moment,” Jocelyn said. She leaned forward, reaching across the table, touching her fingertips to Matilda’s chin. The contact drew a light gasp from Matilda, the woman’s lips shivering. “How do you feel, my Matilda?”

_My Matilda_. The thought rolled about in Matilda’s mind, painting a deeper blush across her cheeks. “I feel… anxious. Fearful. Excited, my Madam.”

“As you should be. With every step towards me, you walk further into the darkness, into the unknown. Are you willing to continue walking with me?”

Matilda swallowed. “Yes, Madam.”

Jocelyn’s hand withdrew from Matilda, reaching instead for the choker resting on the table. “I am going to give you a gift,” Jocelyn started, the slender accessory draping from her fingers. “This choker will be my collar on you. You will wear it as a symbol of our bond. It represents my power and control over you, and our mutual respect for one another. Is that understood?”

Matilda’s eyes open wider. A visible symbol of their relationship. There was something exhilarating, but also frightening, about wearing something so blatant. Would others recognize it as this secret symbol?

“Matilda?”

“Y-yes, Madam!” Matilda sputtered. She hadn’t even noticed how deeply lost in her own thoughts she’d become.

Jocelyn sighed and shook her head. “It seems I will have to make sure I have your full and undivided attention. Stay exactly where you are. I shall return shortly.”

Matilda sat on her pillow, hands atop one another in her lap as she settled on crossed legs. Nervousness shook through her. Was Jocelyn about to make good on her earlier threat? Surely, that was the case, but it was strange that the anticipation rising within her heart was not pure fear, but a sense of excitement for the bite of a weapon against her backside.

Where had that response come from, she wondered? There was, however, no room to consider it. The opening and closing of a door pulled her attention across the room, where Jocelyn strode towards her, a thin staff in her hand.

“Rise up onto your knees,” Jocelyn said, stopping at Matilda’s side, “and place your palms down on the coffee table.”

Matilda swallowed and did as commanded, lifting her thighs perfectly straight, while leaning the weight of her body onto her arms and hands. She looked back at Jocelyn, who now stood almost directly behind her. “Like this, Madam?”

“Very good. You are now going to receive ten strokes across your ass. With each stroke, you are to say ‘My attention is entirely yours, Madam.’ Am I clear?”

Matilda nodded from all fours. “Yes, Madam.”

“Very well. Now, here it comes…”

The cane was tapped lightly three times against Matilda’s backside. Then, with the sound of something slicing quickly through the air, the slender rod slapped against the woman’s bottom, a red hot welt spreading in a line across her ass. Matilda gasped, her hands sliding against the tabletop. For a moment, words escaped her. It was only the pressing gaze of Jocelyn — a gaze she could feel, even if she couldn’t see it — that reminded her of the sentence she was instructed to speak.

“My attention,” she cried out, words half lost in her breath, “is entirely yours, Madam!”

Again, and a third time, the cane snapped through the air, landing heavy against Matilda. Each blow broke a sharp cry from her lips, followed by the pleading affirmation of her loyalty and attention. A vivid heat spread beneath her skin; Matilda felt ready to scream, but through the burning sting of her marks, something within her felt incredibly alive.

Another stroke. And another. “My attention is entirely yours, Madam!” Matilda called out. Her voice broke through itself, reaching upwards for purchase, shifting from frightened, stumbling shouts to clear declarations. “My attention,” she called out, her lips curling into a smile after another blow from cane to bottom, “is entirely yours, Madam!”

Each stroke was methodical, never coming too quickly, with always a pause in between to allow the pain to sink down deep into the flesh. A hand pressed down at her back, fingernails raking slow down over muscle and ribs and shoulder blades. Another stroke, and another still. “My attention is _entirely_ yours, my Madam!”

The final strokes burned the hardest, snapping vivid pain down through fat and muscle, down nearly to the bone. Matilda’s fingers tightened into claws, her back arching as she took her last blows with as much strength as she could muster. “My attention is entirely and completely yours, my Madam!” she called out as the final stroke snapped against her bottom.

Quiet hung in the air for precious minutes, it felt to Matilda. Then, there was warm breath on her ear, and long fingers slowly pulling through her locks of blonde hair. “Very good, my dear Matilda. I’m quite proud of you, and I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

“I have, my Madam,” Matilda answered.

“Good. Now, sit down with your thighs over your calves. I think the time has come for me to give you your gift.”

Matilda obeyed, eagerly, biting her lip as the stinging warmth against her bottom pressed down against her calves. She watched as Jocelyn reached over the table, picking up the choker laid out on its surface. The latch at the back was released, the thin strap of leather draped between her Madam’s hands as it was drawn around her throat. She gasped at the audible click of the latch fastening at the back of her neck, the collar — her collar, she reminded herself — resting light against her skin.

“How does it feel?”

Reaching to her throat with one hand, Matilda’s fingers played over the leather band and metal ring. It felt incredible, seductive, to feel this thin band marking her neck, marking her as belonging to this other woman. “It feels lovely, my Madam,” she said, her words hushed, mingled thoroughly into her breath.

“You are to wear this at all times;” Jocelyn said. “You may remove it only to bathe and to sleep.”

“Even to work?” Matilda’s lips quivered at the thought of having something so plainly visible on her person.

“Yes; you may, if you chose, wear a light scarf over it. But I want you to get used to the feeling of it on your body. I want you to have a constant reminder of my power and presence over you.”

It would certainly be so, Matilda thought. “It will be as you wish, my Madam,” she said, fingers still gliding over the warming band of leather. She wondered if she could follow through on it. She hoped she could, at the very least.

“Now, to take things a step forward…”

Again, Jocelyn reached over the table, taking the butterfly vibrator and its control in one hand. She eased herself down until she knelt behind Matilda, her empty hand resting on Matilda’s hip. “This is going to be something more intimate than we did last weekend. I did elicit an orgasm from you with our previous play, but this will be more direct. Do I have your consent to proceed, my Matilda?”

Matilda swallowed. “Madam, I…” she started, her voice halting, her voice stumbling over itself. Her mind raced back to her thoughts from earlier, the question she’d considered on the drive across town. “Madam, I’ve never really… I’ve never…”

Jocelyn seemed to purr behind her, the sound teasing at her ears like a drop of honey on Matilda’s tongue. Her hands set down the toy onto the floor in front of them; arms wrapped around Matilda’s belly, clasping themselves together over her navel. “Take your time, my Matilda. I can imagine it must be difficult to string together words at the moment.”

Matilda nodded. “Madam, I don’t know how to say this otherwise, but… you’re the first person besides myself to make me feel pleasure, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

Lips pressed to Matilda’s neck; something felt warm in her belly on that contact. “Is it that we’re both women?” Jocelyn said. “I admit, I perhaps should have asked what your preference was prior to us playing last weekend.”

“No, it isn’t that,” Matilda answered, shaking her head. “I just… it’s hard to imagine, feeling all of this for the first time and knowing it’s coming from someone else, instead of myself.”

She could feel Jocelyn’s smile spread across her red lips. “Well, my Matilda, try not to overthink things. If I am making you feel aroused, pleasured, satisfied, then why try to debate within yourself whether that’s worth feeling or not? Simply immerse yourself into the sensation and allow yourself to enjoy.”

“I can try, Madam.”

“Matilda,” Jocelyn said, her arms wrapping ever so slightly tighter around Matilda’s waist, “do you want me to continue?”

Thoughts spun though Matilda’s head. Her teeth grit together behind her lips; she refused to let herself be dragged down by her insecurities, her fears, her uncertainty over what she was becoming. For once, she demanded of herself, she simply wanted to enjoy the experience. Just like she was able to, she reminded herself, the previous weekend.

“Yes,” she said, her voice firm. “Yes, my Madam.”

Jocelyn’s arms unwound themselves from around Matilda’s body. She reached forward once more, taking the cuffs sitting on the table and bringing them closer. “For this, I am going to bind your ankles and wrists together. I will take away your ability to touch, your ability to move.” There was the click of metal against metal, and the cool pressure of fabric and leather wrapping around Matilda’s ankles. “You will simply absorb the sensation until you cannot take anymore.”

Hands touched Matilda’s shoulders, palms caressing skin down the length of her arms, until fingers wrapped tight around wrists. Matilda inhaled as her arms were pulled back, as the other pair of cuffs were fastened around her wrists and the clasps hanging from each clicked and locked together. Her heart raced; she felt helpless, as much so as she had hanging from the cross in Jocelyn’s private dungeon, only this time, she could feel her Madam’s graceful touch against her limbs, instead of the cold steel of the cross’ restraints.

Jocelyn brought her hands over Matilda’s arms and around her chest, hands pressing firmly over the round curve of the other woman’s breasts. Matilda gasped, pressing her teeth down into her lower lip. The slow squeeze of her Madam’s fingers felt magnificent, a sweet, warm massage over tender skin. She wanted to reach around, take Jocelyn’s hands into her own, show this other woman just how she wanted to be touched, only to have the pull and clink of metal on metal remind her of her restraints.

She was utterly Jocelyn’s to play with, she realized, and felt a shiver race down her spine.

Fingertips and nails played with the nubs at the center of her areolae, squeezing in on them, pressing them down into the firm flesh beneath her skin. Matilda gasped, pulling back from the sharp pressure, only to feel Jocelyn’s hands squeeze tighter, digging the edge of her nails into her nipples. “No escape,” Jocelyn whispered, giggling into her plaything’s ear before teasing its lobe with the very edge of her teeth.

One hand relinquished its grip, sliding downwards, stroking over round belly and down her thigh, retrieving the toy left laying on top of the cushion Matilda was seated on. The remote was given to her other hand, while the fingers holding the butterfly itself eased their way down through Matilda’s trimmed patch of pubic hair.

“So, my Matilda,” Jocelyn said, fluttering her fingertips over the outermost folds of her submissive’s labia, “this is the first time you’ve had another touch your loins, is that right?”

“Y-yes, Madam,” Matilda said, her voice riding a halting wave of exhaled breath.

Fingers danced against Matilda’s body, slipping down into her, spreading her lips slowly apart. Silicone warmed by Jocelyn’s hand laid gently down inside of her, the butterfly balanced delicately over her clit. “Are we enjoying how it feels, thus far?”

Matilda’s head felt warm, her vision blurred around the edges. Every brush of fingers against skin made her feel more liquid inside. “Y-yes, very much, my Madam,” she answered with eyes half open, looking down at the careful dance unfolding between her legs.

The sudden pulse of vibration jolted through Matilda’s body; she cried out, arms pulling against her restraints as her hips pressed down against the toy being held against her. Sputtering sounds dribbled from her lips; Jocelyn lightly rocked the butterfly back and forth, sinking the toy down deep into the cleft of Matilda’s vulva, before riding it back upward again over the head of her clit.

Matilda’s thighs lifted and sank, rolling in time to the pulsed vibrations shaking through her. A soft moan pushed past her lips, her hips rolling forward to bring the vibrator closer to her. She looked back over her shoulder, where Jocelyn knelt, Matilda drinking in the sight of this smiling, alluring woman taking her for the ride of her life.

“Now, do we want to come?” Jocelyn asked, her thumb sliding over the side of the remote. The intensity of the vibrations between Matilda’s legs accelerated, pulling another sharp cry from the woman’s throat. “Do you think you deserve to come?”

“Yes, Madam, I want to!” Matilda leaned back, her hands touching her ankles, her chest heaving with every breath she fought to take in. “I want to so badly!”

Fingers hooked through Matilda’s hair, pulling until the tension strained against her scalp. “But do you deserve it?” Jocelyn asked again.

“I,” Matilda sputtered, eyes opening wide as she looked back at Jocelyn. “I think so?”

Jocelyn clucked her tongue and shook her head. In the beat of an instant, she took the vibrations between Matilda’s legs away, nearly compelling her submissive to collapse as she groaned in aching need. “I don’t think you’ve quite deserved it yet. Oh no, my dear Matilda; you need to really want it. An orgasm is not something I give freely nor easily. Is that understood?”

“But,” Matilda said, a chill racing through her body as she readjusted to feeling without the butterfly buzzing between her legs. “But Madam…”

Fingers eased down the edge of her jaw, Jocelyn’s hand cupping around Matilda’s chin. “You’ll earn it in due time. I want you to really, truly want it. I want desperation on your face, my Matilda. Remember, I am a sadist at heart. I want to see you struggle and suffer for want of that blissful release. Is that understood?”

Matilda’s eyes watered. She hungered for climax so desperately as it was. How could she possibly want it more?

“But Madam,” Matilda asked, “what will we do now?”

Jocelyn laughed, her hand caressing the side of Matilda’s head. “Oh, my dear Matilda,” she said. “I’ve only begun to play with you this weekend.”

* * *

Indeed she had, Matilda thought, walking into the office the following Monday morning. Jocelyn had put a leash on her throat, walked her across the condo to the dungeon, and proceeded to ravage her back with every tool at her disposal. Even a day and a half later, her skin still burned with the dull ache of fading bruises and still-hot welts that pulsed deep into muscle and bone.

She ran her fingers back through her hair as she stepped off the elevator. All of that, and that wasn’t even to mention the collar wrapped around her throat.

She’d spent a long time looking at it, the slender, simple band and ring resting on her nightstand. She’d worn it as instructed all day Sunday. That much, wearing it at home as she texted back and forth with Jocelyn, was easy enough. It was a strange, but exhilarating, sensation to feel it around her neck, hugging close to her skin. A mark on her body, reminding her of this other woman’s command of her, that she was controlled by someone else, someone that she trusted to push her body and mind as hard as possible.

Wearing it into work, however, was an entirely different matter.

It was strange. Crossroads, she thought, was a very sexually charged city. One did not have to look far to see examples of raw sexuality in advertising and street art, to see exotic costumes and sensual outfits worn by people at night. It was simply a part of the character of the city, and most were entirely used to its ever-present nature.

But that was a different class entirely from herself, she thought. The people who dressed that way, who lived on the bleeding edge of sexuality and all the myriad erotic wonders the City offered, were the everyday people who made the gears of Crossroads turn. Those were the people who worked several pay grades lower than herself. For her class, it was evening parties with cocktails and hors d’oeuvres, light conversation and light music. A world apart from the hedonism of the working classes, or so she thought.

But then there was Jocelyn, Matilda considered. A wealthy, well-to-do woman, the assistant to a powerful executive, and moreover, her dominatrix. She couldn’t possibly be alone in her pursuit of the extremes of pleasure, Matilda thought to herself. Did Jocelyn mingle with the pulsing lifeblood of the lower classes, or was there a side to her own strata of the social universe that she was utterly unaware of?

“Good morning, ma’am,” came the refrain from the accounting and advertising staff as Matilda walked among them. She returned their greetings, a smile on her face, her fingers struggling not to reach and touch the collar around her throat. Would people notice if she did? Had they already noticed? Were they questioning its presence in their minds?

“Good Morning, Miss Langley,” came a familiar voice to her right. Matilda paused, turning her head, looking down to where Jocelyn sat at her desk just outside the entrance to her private office. “I trust you had a pleasant weekend?”

_You would know,_ Matilda thought. Instead, she smiled. “I did indeed, Jocelyn. Thank you.”

The other woman nodded, turning to face her. A playful smile curled on her lips. “That’s a curious choker you’re wearing, Miss Langley. Are we trying a new look?”

Matilda choked on her words for a moment. Of course Jocelyn would point out the obvious, out loud. Matilda struggled to put together a complimentary smile to Jocelyn’s own. “Just a little accessory, that’s all. I thought I might try something different.”

“It looks good on you,” said another, nearby voice. Matilda turned; Catherine, the director of advertising for the paper, was standing across Jocelyn’s desk from her, a steaming cup of coffee cradled in her hands. “It makes you look youthful, Miss Langley. I hear all the twenty-somethings are playing with a similar look, nowadays.”

“Well, age is simply a number,” Jocelyn said, turning back to her computer. “Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Langley? There’s never too late of a time in one’s life to experience something new.”

The blush on Matilda’s cheeks grew brighter. “O-of course! Nothing wrong with that at all. Honestly, part of staying young at heart is pushing your boundaries and pursuing new adventures.” She laughed nervously, her fingers tugging at the metal ring joining the two halves of her collar together. “I’m glad you all think well of the things I’m changing up!”

“I just find it encouraging,” Jocelyn said. “I’ve forwarded some important messages to you, Miss Langley. Please be sure to review these once you’re at your desk.”

Catherine nodded. “Looks like we all need to get to the grind. I’ll see the both of you later.”

“Very well. And thank you, Jocelyn. I’ll look into it in a moment.”

With that, Matilda turned her back on her secretary’s playful expression and stepped inside her office, quickly but quietly closing the door behind her. She handled things well, she assured herself, in the face of having the presence of her collar pointed out so blatantly. An accessory, indeed, she scoffed! If only Catherine, or others like her, knew just how many layers and dimensions this simply accessory held.

She poured herself a cup of coffee from the bar in the corner of the office. There, on the counter, was a broken shard of the vase that Jocelyn had tipped over two weeks before. The white corner of a piece of paper stuck out from behind it; she picked it up, turning the fragment over. _Kintsugi_, the note read, in Jocelyn’s elegant, simple cursive.

Matilda sighed, setting the piece back onto the counter as her coffee finished pouring. Carrying her cup across the room, she settled herself behind her desk, unpacking her laptop from her bag and opening it to begin the process of work for the day.

Unanswered emails poured into her inbox; messages from the executive teams of the dailys they were acquiring in a few weeks time; briefings from the newsroom, as well as financial updates on the status of the paper as a whole. One by one, she worked through the pile, jotting down notes along the way in shorthand, replying immediately to pressing questions so that she didn’t inevitably forget them later in the day.

A tile flashed at the bottom of the screen. The green blinking bar escape Matilda’s vision for a moment, her attention otherwise immersed in her email. But after clicking send on her last message, her eyes caught on. A message from Jocelyn, she realized, and clicked it as a chill raced down her spine.

“Did you bring the butterfly with you?” the message said, simply enough.

Matilda’s hands hesitated over her keyboard. Would she really hold her to the promise they made over the weekend? “Yes, of course. It’s in my purse.”

A pause. “Yes, of course…?”

Matilda swallowed, feeling her throat tighten beneath her collar. “Yes, of course, Madam,” she answered. There was something frightening about speaking the word, the title, even in chat.

“Place it down the front of your underwear exactly where we discussed. Leave it there. Do not touch it or remove it unless you need to use the bathroom, in which case, you are to immediately place it back where instructed. Is that clear?”

Matilda leaned over, retrieving the small, pink silicone butterfly from an inner pouch in her purse. She turned the toy over in her fingers, keeping it well below the level of the top of her desk. If anyone were to see, to notice… “Are you going to use it on me, Madam? At work?”

The reply returned quickly, this time. “Answer my question, Matilda. And address me properly.”

“Yes, Madam. I apologize, Madam.”

“Tell me when you have it in place.”

Matilda took a deep breath. One hand pulled forward the front of her pants and the waistband of her plain, white panties. The other settled the butterfly down inside, resting it between her folds, until the body of it lay against her clit and the wings rested over the curtain of her labia. The feeling was strange; she already felt the slightest bit wet upon her own touch. Had she been anticipating this? How long had her body, her mind, been waiting for Jocelyn’s command.

“It’s in place, Madam,” she answered, biting her lip as her fingers raced over her keyboard.

Long seconds passed. She wondered if Jocelyn would start immediately, or if she would give her pause, making her wait until she least expected. The chat window flashed, showing that Jocelyn was typing, though the blinking dots alerting Matilda that a message was forthcoming lingered longer than she would have wanted.

“Now, don’t you have work to do?” Jocelyn’s response finally appeared.

Matilda balked; it was not the answer she’d expected. Of course she had work to do! “Of course, I will see to that right away, Madam” she responded quickly, before turning back to her inbox. There was still a long list of unopened emails. Strange, she thought, how the torrent of messages kept coming, even through the weekend. That was the nature of a newsroom, however.

She began digging into a review of the weekend’s stories from her editor-in-chief, reviewing the editorial board discussion, when the chat tile at the bottom of the screen pinged once again. It was Jocelyn’s — of course it was Jocelyn’s, Matilda thought — and she wasted no time checking the message.

“It’ll happen when you least expect it.”

Matilda swallowed, her hands shaking at the mere thought of this game starting at any time, her mind unable to prepare for when it might begin. She glanced down at herself, blushing at the feeling of the toy resting against her, before turning back to the email she had begun reading.

It was a few paragraphs into the lengthy message, filled with bullet points and links to articles and documents stored in the cloud, when Matilda felt the low vibration of the butterfly down the front of her pants. She gasped, then clasped her hands over her mouth, hoping against hope that no one outside of her office could hear the sudden noise. The toy buzzed against her, pressing and shifting ever so slightly against the flesh wrapped around it, its movement eliciting deeper warmth from within her belly.

One hand settled against her lap, the other shaking as it rested atop the mouse on her desk, flicks of her finger scrolling the screen downward through her email. She pressed her lips together, trying to focus through the persistent hum, trying to force her brain to ignore the sensation and concentrate on what she was supposed to be doing.

To do so, however, took all of that concentration. Her gaze slid from word to word, then back again, repeating over phrases that she would normally process through easily. All of it made more difficult by the buzzing between her legs.

Her eyes glanced down, expecting a message from Jocelyn. There was none, however. Drawing a deep breath, she redoubled her efforts to focus on the message in front of her, only to feel the vibration at her front begin to accelerate.

She fell back into her chair, her hands pressing against her thighs, fingers curling up towards her palms. She tilted her hips, pressing her thighs together, doing anything she could to press the buzzing toy harder against herself. Her hands slid up the length of her thigh, fingers sinking down between her legs, finding a spot where she could pressure the butterfly down deeper into her folds.

The laptop in front of Matilda chimed, the message from Jocelyn popping up automatically. “I hope you’re not touching yourself,” the message prompted. “I would certainly hate to have to punish you for trying to rush your pleasure along.”

Matilda gasped, immediately pulling her hands away from herself, resting them instead on the arms of her chair. A drop of sweat rolled down her cheek, her lips sputtering as another message appeared on the screen. “I am, of course,” Jocelyn typed, “prepared at all times to take care of you.”

A picture appeared. An open drawer, and a wooden cane laying amongst the papers and notebooks in a filing bin. Fighting through the swimming sensation in her head, Matilda reached forward, hand shaking over her keyboard as she typed out a reply.

“Of course, Madam. I would never disappoint you.”

The reply came back quickly. “Good, my Matilda. Now, don’t forget your work…”

How could she focus on work at a time like this, Matilda thought. Still, she urged herself to sit up, straightening her spine, fighting through the cloudy feeling the toy was flooding her mind with. Focus, she reminded herself. She had to focus. She had a job to do.

If she could do it, she thought.

Squinting her eyes, she pushed through the final paragraphs of the message from her editor, while her legs crossed and uncrossed beneath her desk. Each movement subtly moved the toy around within her, pushing it closer, pulling it away, easing it back and forth over the most sensitive parts of her body. She clicked reply, biting her lip, struggling to type out her response to her underling. Shaking fingers tapped out on keys, one by one, fashioning her answer a syllable at a time, her writing slowed by the fitful speed of her mind.

More and more the buzzing accelerated. Matilda’s hands slid off her keyboard, her mind resigning itself to being lost in the sensation washing over her in ever-more powerful waves. A sputtered cry slipped past her lips; she squirmed in her chair, feet shifting back and forth against the floor as she pressed her hips down into her seat.

A message popped up again. “You’re going to do exactly as I tell you, Matilda.”

Matilda swallowed. She reached forward with one hand, slowly tapping out her reply. “Yes, Madam. Whatever you do, I will obey.”

A pause, and then… “Stand up. Face towards the windows. Slide your pants and panties down to your knees and massage the toy against your clit. I want the world to see you get off. Is that understood?”

Hot red blush bloomed across Matilda’s cheeks. “Madam, if someone sees me…”

“And who will see you, from hundreds of feet in the air? Besides, my Matilda, I want you to give the city a show. Let them see how you obey me. Is that understood?”

Matilda, her hand shaking, tapped out her message one letter at a time. “Yes, my Madam.”

Legs shaking beneath her, Matilda stood, facing out through the windows that looked down on the bustling city beneath them. Hot breath fogged the glass in front of her as she pulled down on the waist of her pants. Fingers slipped beneath her panties as they, too, were eased down her thighs, her fingers gently pushing the simply, silicone toy against the bead of her clitoris.

She gasped as the vibration rocked through her, its pace reaching its quickest, her chest heaving under every breath as she struggled to hold herself up on two legs. Back and forth she massaged the small toy, her teeth digging into her lower lip, her opposite elbow pressed against the glass as her hips rolled forward and back, forward and back, over and over.

There came a quiet click from across the room. Matilda’s eyes went wide; she couldn’t, she thought, she mustn't be seen like this. But when no words were spoken, when no one shouted out in shock, when the door instead simply closed with a second, quiet click, she knew there could only be one person who had entered the room.

“Madam,” she said through sputtering breaths, glancing back over her shoulder at Jocelyn, “does this please you?”

Jocelyn smiled, her back leaning against the door into the office, her arms crossed lightly over her waist. “It does,” she answered with a simple smile. “Do, please, continue.”

Matilda redoubled her focus, fingers sliding along the length of the butterfly, shifting it within her as the weight of her trembling body pushed down through her legs. Soft, fluttering moans slipped from her mouth, while wet tackiness leaked against her fingers. Her forehead pressed against the glass, the surface seemingly ice cold compared to the raw heat rising up from her body.

Footsteps approached. Matilda gasped as she felt Jocelyn’s hand at her shoulder, felt the woman lean in, felt her Madam bring her lips to her ear and her voice whisper in a low, soul-shaking tone, “Do you think you deserve to come, now?”

Matilda gasped, pressing the toy between her legs tighter against herself. “Only,” she said, her voice shaking, her mind instinctively now knowing the only correct answer, “if you believe I deserve it, my Madam.”

Jocelyn smiled, and pressed a kiss to her submissive’s cheek. “Then do it,” she replied, “so that all the world can see.”

Matilda brought her thighs tightly together, let her vulva swallow the toy up into her, let her every muscle clench around the buzzing sensation, until a sharp, strangled cry burst from her mouth, swallowed back to keep the whole office from hearing, her mouth smearing lipstick across the window before her as she found the release she so craved from the weekend.

Every inch of her body weak, Matilda sank to the floor, collapsing to her knees with the butterfly clutched, fingers soaked in her fluids. Panties and slacks bunched around her ankles, her legs in a tangled heap, she looked upwards, her mind in a haze as she met Jocelyn’s eyes.

The sun caught against her Madam’s hair, lighting it like fire. She belonged, completely, utterly, to this woman who shone like the heavens. Matilda’s fingers reached to the collar around her neck, feeling it, feeling the possession it represented, and smiled.

She was going to love every minute that was still to come between them.


End file.
